


three little words

by sinnerlikeme



Series: skimmons. [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, College, Crushes, Developing Relationship, Drinking, Drunk Jemma Simmons, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Pregnancy, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-11-07 13:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11060205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinnerlikeme/pseuds/sinnerlikeme
Summary: sometimes three little words are all it takes.





	1. if you show up at my door

**Author's Note:**

> based on [this tumblr post](http://cursorium.tumblr.com/post/133898214807/three-word-starters)!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** are you drunk? + drunk i’m not.

The last thing Daisy expected on a Wednesday night was for Jemma Simmons to show up at her door, wasted and missing her tie.

Daisy notices that first. Jemma always wears a tie, had one on this afternoon when they were in class together. A cute plaid design that went with her raspberry-colored sweater. And now it’s inexplicably gone.

Daisy is so surprised to see her, looking nauseous and dazed, that she simply stands in the doorway of her dorm room, eyebrows raised, mouth open, for a good long minute. “Uhhh,” the taller brunette eventually says, observing the rest of Jemma’s attire. She’s still wearing pants, Daisy notes. “What happened to you, Hermione?”

Despite her clearly intoxicated state, Jemma groans at the nickname. “Shut up. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Daisy doesn’t hesitate. She steps aside, allowing the scientist to enter. Jemma stumbles to Daisy’s desk chair as Daisy closes the door, giving them privacy. She folds her arms and stands in front of Jemma, eyeing her critically. “Are you drunk?” 

“Drunk I’m not,” Jemma slurs, elbows on her knees, face in her hands. “Bit queasy, that’s all.”

“Right,” Daisy responds bluntly, moving to grab the wastebin by her desk. She places it near Jemma, just in case. 

“I feel terrible,” Jemma whines a moment later, grabbing the can and hoisting it onto her lap. Daisy has to suppress a laugh since it looks rather funny, this tiny, generally orthodox girl clutching a garbage can for dear life. 

“How much did you have to drink?” Daisy sighs, reaching out to brush Jemma’s hair off her clammy face.

“Dunno,” Jemma mutters, shrugging. “Two, three…maybe five.” She hiccups. “No, four an’ a half.”

“Christ, Simmons.” Daisy pinches the bridge of her nose. “Honey, why on earth were you drinking? It’s not even Friday.”

Jemma’s face crumples and Daisy regrets how harsh that sounded. Apparently Jemma is a sensitive drunk. “Daisy, I have so much fucking _work_ to do,” she tells her hoarsely, and Daisy actually jumps, taken aback. “I needed a break, okay? I have too much on my plate an’ it was making me anxious so I went an’ had a few beers.”

“Why didn’t you text me?” Daisy murmurs, a tad miffed. “We could’ve been drinking buddies. Keep each other in check.”

Jemma gives her the nastiest look. She puts both her palms up apologetically. 

Jemma falls silent after that, focused on not throwing up even though Daisy wouldn’t really mind. Daisy sighs and runs her fingers through her hair, suddenly realizing how tired she is. It’s quarter to eleven and she usually tries to be in bed by now, but her own homework kept her up late. Today, she’s sort of glad it did.

Once another wave of nausea passes, Jemma sets the wastebin back down and fixes Daisy with a morose look. “I’m sorry,” says the smaller woman, fiddling with her hands in her lap. “I hope I didn’t ruin your evening.”

Daisy smiles softly and shakes her head, gesturing to the amount of work she has left. “Nothing much to ruin.”

Jemma gazes at her desktop like she’s seeing it for the first time. “Ugh,” is all she has to say. 

 _She’s definitely drunk_ , Daisy thinks affectionately. _Sober Jemma would be all over this._ “Um, hey,” she says out loud, grabbing Jemma’s attention again. “Why don’t you, uh…stay here for a bit,” she suggests, hoping Jemma can’t detect her reddening cheeks. “You rest while I finish my essay. I can take you back to your dorm later when I’m done.” 

“Oh, no, you don’t have to do that,” Jemma quickly objects, waving a hand dismissively and trying to stand to prove her point. But she wobbles and Daisy hurries to catch her before the poor girl faceplants onto the carpet.

“I gotcha,” Daisy assures her, and Jemma unintentionally leans her head on Daisy’s chest. There’s a brief moment where they freeze like that, Daisy’s arms curled borderline protectively around Jemma’s torso, Jemma holding on weakly to Daisy’s shoulders. Daisy’s heart does a funny little skippy thing and Jemma is overwhelmed by the familiar scent clinging to Daisy’s fluffy sweater.

So, maybe there’s something they need to discuss. Not right now, though. Now definitely isn’t the right time.

 _I really wish I was drunk, too_ , Daisy thinks vaguely as she snaps back to herself then returns Jemma to the chair, face even pinker.

Jemma’s eyes are glassy and she looks sad. Daisy tries not to think too hard about that.

“Yeah, uh—you’re staying here,” Daisy affirms, squeezing Jemma’s shoulders. 

Jemma nods mutely, not up for arguing. She just wants Daisy to hold her again. How does she ask without it sounding desperate?

There’s an awkward silence that doubles into a tense pause that makes Daisy herself feel sick. “Um,” she says, just to fill the silence with something. “You, uh…you need anything? Water? Tylenol?” 

Jemma scoffs. “I can’t mix alcohol and Tylenol, silly,” she criticizes. “Water would be nice, though. Please.” 

Daisy hurries to the bathroom to pour Jemma a cup, and Jemma thanks her softly when she takes it from her hands. Their fingers touch and Daisy gets that fluttery sensation in her chest again. _Knock it off_ , she scolds herself. 

Jemma downs the water in one big gulp. A rookie mistake. She retches into the basket not ten seconds later. 

Daisy holds her hair back and pats her shoulder, knowing exactly how she’s feeling. 

Once Jemma gets it all out of her system, she apologizes tearfully to Daisy—again—but Daisy shushes her gently, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Don’t be sorry,” she whispers. “It’s alright. Been there, done that.” 

Jemma laughs croakily. The sound is adorable. Daisy’s heart melts.

Daisy helps Jemma wash up and lets her borrow a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. Daisy changes the garbage bag and places the can next to her bed, where Jemma is now curled up, already half-asleep. 

Jemma drifts off while Daisy resumes her studies, but Daisy keeps looking over at Jemma, to either check on or admire her, Daisy can’t decide; all she knows is that tonight of all nights awoke something inside her she had no idea was there.

Hopefully, maybe, Jemma got that feeling, too.


	2. a happy beginning now is ours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** are you sick? + it says ‘positive.’

Jemma has spent the majority of the morning in bed, sleeping and fighting nausea. Luckily it’s Daisy’s day off so she can stay home and look after her wife—who may or may not be pregnant.

Daisy is trying really hard not to get her hopes up, because treatments can fail or they don’t work the first time around. But Jemma is experiencing symptoms and her period is due in two days so they still have a chance. 

They’ll keep trying if she isn’t, no matter what. Daisy promised her a family when they got married and she’ll be damned if she can’t give Jemma what she wants. She wants it, too—she didn’t realize how badly until Jemma suggested it several months ago. “I want a baby,” she had admitted when they were at Target, where she had wandered over to the infant clothes section and was gazing quite wistfully at the adorable onesies. She looked over at Daisy, who was standing there with popcorn in her hand, taken aback. “I think I’m ready,” Jemma sighed. Daisy merely nodded. 

“Okay,” she said with a shrug, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Let’s go have a baby, then.”

Now Daisy knocks lightly on the bedroom door and asks, a bit tentatively, “Hey, hon, you doing alright?”

Jemma groans pitifully. “I’m hanging in there,” she answers sullenly. “I have to pee but I can’t move.”

“Ohh, foreshadowing,” Daisy snickers as she pokes her head in. Jemma is curled up comfortably under the covers with their kitten, Simon, snuggled close to her. He was a recent birthday present for Jemma, and they’re attached at the hip. 

Jemma smiles as Daisy crawls onto the bed beside her, rolling over to kiss her cheek. “Hello, wife.”

“Hi, spouse,” Daisy murmurs, scrunching her nose and burying her face in Jemma’s shoulder. “Feel pregnant yet?”

“Ugh, God. I don’t know.” Jemma sets her phone down and rubs her eyes. “I’ve been reading about it—again—but I don’t want to…y’know, think too far ahead. I hope so, but…” She trails off quietly.

Daisy turns her head to kiss Jemma’s throat innocently. “We’ll have a baby,” she whispers, lacing their fingers together. “I promised you we would. It’s not impossible for us. We can be parents, too.” Jemma nods, and she’s glad she’s facing away from Daisy, since it is difficult to hide her tears. “We’ll have a baby, whether or not it’s our own. Okay? We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“I just really want this,” Jemma sniffs, chest constricting. She grips her wife’s hand tightly. “It’s all I can think about. I want it so, so bad. Not just being pregnant, but…I want it for you. I want to see you be a mum with me. You deserve that.”

“I know,” Daisy mutters, and hugs her wife, because it’s all she can do.

It isn’t long before Jemma hauls her sore body out of bed so she can empty her stomach of the water and saltine crackers Daisy has been encouraging her to munch on. Daisy pulls a hair tie off her wrist and quickly twists her wife’s hair into a loose bun, squeezing Jemma’s shoulder comfortingly. Jemma groans when she’s finished, wiping her mouth with toilet paper and reaching up to flush. A heavy silence settles in the small bathroom a minute later.

Jemma is the first to say it. “I think I’m pregnant,” she murmurs in a dull voice.

Daisy shrugs. “Maybe you caught a bug,” she suggests. “I mean, I know we’re hoping for a baby, but… Are you sick?”

“I don’t have a temperature,” Jemma informs her, shaking her head and leaning against her side. “I’m not exhibiting any other signs of illness like the flu.” She sighs, then touches Daisy’s knee, and Daisy’s eyes automatically go to the ring on her finger. Her throat gets tight all of a sudden. She made a vow—through sickness and in health, and then she made a promise: to build a family.

“You should take a test,” Daisy says to Jemma, quiet but firm. Jemma fidgets.

“What if it says no?” she whispers, ducking her head to hide her emotion. 

Daisy cups the side of Jemma’s face in her other hand, rubbing her cheekbone with her thumb. “Then we’ll try again.” 

Jemma can’t object to that. _We’ll try again_. And they’ll never stop trying. 

Daisy waits outside the bathroom, chewing her nails. Jemma calls her name when it’s over so she can come back in to watch…well, it. “So the plus sign means yes, right?” she clarifies, squinting at the stick. Jemma nods. “Huh. Hope it’s not too faint to make out. I wish these things gave you a smiley face instead. It’s cuter.”

Jemma hugs her arm, nuzzling her shoulder. “You’re cute,” she mumbles, and Daisy kisses the top of her head.

“Ugh, I’m so nervous. I can’t look.” Jemma covers her eyes and goes to stand by the bathtub.

Daisy’s entire body is practically buzzing with anxiety and excitement. _This is it_ , she thinks, peeking at the growing line—or lines.

“What does it say?” Jemma squeaks a moment later. “Daisy, what’s it say?”

Daisy tries to speak but her throat is tight with emotion, vision blurred as tears well in her eyes. Ultimately she manages to rasp, “It says ‘positive,’” and Jemma makes a disbelieving sound.

She rushes to see for herself, then screams, hands flying to her mouth. “Oh!” she exclaims tearfully, turning to her wife. Daisy’s face is already wet and that only prompts Jemma to start crying; she throws her arms around Daisy and hugs her tightly, weeping into her shoulder. “We did it!” she yells, voice thick and muffled. Daisy squeezes her.

“Yeah, we did,” Daisy murmurs, elated butterflies erupting in her chest.

They’re soon laughing delightedly and pecking each other’s tear-stained mouths, foreheads pressed together, arms wound around the other’s frame, an unseen baby growing slowly between them.


	3. these little moments of love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** well, fuck me. + you are screwed.

Daisy stares morosely down at the schoolwork she’s been procrastinating since Friday evening. “Well, fuck me,” she whispers, tone bitter. It’s quarter to eight PM on a Sunday night and she’s only just now getting around to studying.

Jemma would be so, so disappointed in her if she was here.

As if by fate’s design, barely fifteen minutes later Daisy gets a text from her favorite aspiring biochemist. _I hope you’re working on the assignment_ , she says with the eye emoji, and Daisy snorts a laugh.

 _I am, actually_ , she responds, using the shocked face. _Surprise, surprise. I’m being productive the very day before…_

 _Ha. I already finished mine_ , Jemma teases, sticking her tongue out, one eye closed. 

 _Come over and do it for me, then_ , Daisy begs. _Keep me company, at the very least._  

Jemma writes back in thirty seconds; probably had to ask her mum for permission. _Sure!_ she answers willingly. _Give me five._

 _Ride your bike. Come in through my window_ , Daisy warns. _My dad will think I’m just gonna slack off some more._

 _Well_ , Jemma starts to say, then deletes her following text and replaces it with, _Okay. :)_  

Daisy’s heart flutters for some reason. The thought that Jemma wants to see her this late at night and possibly help her out with her schoolwork is enough to give her gay ass an anxiety attack. Jemma still doesn’t know about the crush.

 _She can never know_ , Daisy thinks to herself solemnly. Jemma’s straight, anyway. They’re friends. She’s not interested.

True her to word, after five minutes there’s a tapping on Daisy’s window. She glances over to see Jemma kneeling on the roof, a big smile on her pretty face. Daisy leaps from her chair to let her in, and Jemma’s chattering before the windowpane is even up. Jemma crawls onto Daisy’s cushioned seat, clutching a folder labeled “NOTES” to her chest.

“Brought some notes,” she tells Daisy, out of breath from climbing up to the roof. “Here!” She hands Daisy the folder then bends to untie her sneakers, still talking. She says something about a raccoon she saw on her way and how it reminded her of the weird kid who sits behind her in history (“His name is James but he goes by Bucky instead, dunno why”).

“Jemma.” Daisy clears her throat and Jemma finally perks up, beaming, and it’s like the sun is still shining in Daisy’s bedroom.

“Yes?” the scientist says innocently. It’s so darn cute how her hair is pulling loose from her ponytail, framing her pink cheeks.

Daisy forgets what she was going to say. “Uh, thanks for coming over,” she stutters quickly.

Jemma shrugs. “Anytime,” she chirps, then leads Daisy back to her desk. She assesses what little progress Daisy has made and plops down in her chair, muttering to herself as Daisy stands awkwardly beside her, still clutching the folder.

“Oh, no, no,” Jemma whispers, grabbing a pencil and fixing an error.

“What?” Daisy asks, instinctively offended, peeking over Jemma’s shoulder. “I can’t learn anything if you do it for me.”

“Isn’t that what you wanted, darling?” Jemma practically simpers, and Daisy nearly chokes on air.

“I—n-no, I was kidding,” Daisy mumbles, blushing furiously. Jemma tosses her a sly grin. 

“Well, then, go get another chair. We’ll do it together. Might be fun.”

She’s one hundred percent serious. _Heaven help me_ , Daisy thinks, shaking her head as she goes to find a fold-up chair in a closet.

Several minutes later, after quietly and carefully maneuvering the chair out of the hall closet into her room, Daisy sits with Jemma, chin in her palm as Jemma helps her complete her assignment, Jemma visibly restraining herself from shouting all the answers.

It’s nice, having Jemma here. Daisy focuses better, oddly enough, and it goes by quicker when the time is spent with her. Jemma is quite funny, cracking jokes to keep the mood light on the occasions Daisy gets frustrated.

At one point, Daisy laughs so hard she falls out of her chair, her body hitting the floor with a thud. Pain shoots up her shoulder and she automatically hisses, and both girls stiffen at the sound of footsteps.

“Daisy?” her dad’s worried voice calls up the stairs. Daisy wishes she’d hit her head and died instead. _Oh shit._

“You are screwed,” Jemma whispers, wide-eyed, and Daisy kicks her in the shin.

The door flies open before Jemma can even think of hiding. Mr. Coulson pokes his head into the room and blinks, befuddled at the sight of Jemma rather than his daughter. Daisy manages to pull herself up, grabbing onto the foot of her bed for support. “Hey, hi,” she greets, wincing when her arm protests. “We’re all good, Dad.”

“Jemma, what are you doing here?” Phil enquires, but thankfully doesn’t sound angry—yet.

Daisy is suddenly _very_ grateful her mom is on a business trip halfway around the world. 

Jemma automatically reaches for Daisy to help her back into her chair. “Um—I—I’m helping Daisy with her homework.”

Daisy smacks her on the elbow and gives her a stern “he’s-gonna-think-you’re-doing-it-for-me” look.

Phil’s brow furrows. “How did you come in?” he asks. “I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

The teens glance at each other. “I—I came in through the window, sir,” Jemma explains timidly. 

“The window?” Phil squints at Daisy’s bedroom window, where Jemma’s sneakers are on the floor. “Huh. How about that.” He sighs and says to his daughter, “Okay, well, don’t stay up too late. I won’t tell Mom.”

“Yeah, please don’t,” Daisy begs breathlessly, relief bubbling in her brain.

He winks and puts a finger to his lips, then closes the door. Jemma starts giggling and Daisy rolls her eyes. “He’s so overprotective,” she complains, rubbing her arm where it still hurts. “We got off easy this time, though.”

Jemma makes a face. “I love your mum, but she scares me a tad.”

Daisy scoffs. “I would be concerned if you weren’t, Jem,” she mumbles.

They sit in silence for a minute, Jemma’s chin in her palm, watching Daisy with soft eyes. “This is fun,” she murmurs.

Daisy grins, and the throbbing in her shoulder ebbs at Jemma’s voice. “Yeah,” she nods. “It is. Stop makin’ me laugh, though, or else I’ll hit my head next time. My parents will never let you come over again.” 

Jemma laughs. “Funny how _I_ turned out to be the bad influence,” she snickers.

Daisy’s mouth falls open. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jemma presses her lips together and pretends to lock them with a key.

“You little brat,” Daisy mutters, snatching her pencil so she can finally finish this damn paper.

Her heart is racing. And not because they escaped getting in trouble. 

Daisy wraps up her assignment quarter to nine and they decide to celebrate with Netflix. Halfway through an episode of _The Office_ , Phil knocks on the door, announcing he brought popcorn. (Daisy texted him and used an excessive amount of emojis to persuade him into making them some.) As usual, Daisy hogs the bowl and Jemma insists they put it between them like the computer. Daisy just enjoys hearing Jemma’s bossy voice; for some reason it makes her smile.

Several episodes later, after the bowl is empty, Jemma casually curls up against Daisy’s side. Daisy hesitates, then snakes her arm—the one she fell on, no less—around Jemma’s waist, hoping the gesture is innocent. She glances down and sees Jemma smiling, and all her fears melt away in an instant. It’s slow going, and maybe this is nothing, but a flicker of hope ignites within Daisy’s chest. 

“Thanks for helping me out,” she whispers, resisting the urge to kiss Jemma’s forehead. _Too far._

 Jemma hums sleepily. “Anytime, babe,” she murmurs back, nestling closer.

Assured, Daisy grins into Jemma’s hair, and decides a small kiss there wouldn’t hurt anybody.

Telling by the way Jemma squeezes her waist, it was the right thing to do.


	4. bit the dust then rose from the ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **prompt:** are you home? + talk to me.

It’s cold. It’s really fucking cold. Even under her leather jacket, Daisy is freezing. 

She already puked her guts out once but the chill is making her nauseous again. But she’s too cold to move, so she sits on a rigid, icy bench outside the bar, watching people come and go through blurry eyes. Nobody notices her and nobody asks if she needs a ride or if she’s okay. Doesn’t matter. She doesn’t need pity or help. She’s fine. She’s fine. It’ll be fine.

She retches directly onto the sidewalk a second later.

 _Where the fuck am I?_ Daisy wipes her mouth and peers up at the neon sign like she’s only just now seeing where she got drunk. It’s a tiny place in the back alleys of Los Angeles; she knows it’s the alleys because it stinks. Overflowing dumpsters and trash bins are reeking of rotting food and other questionable things Daisy can’t currently imagine. 

She sighs, hugging herself for warmth. She had no idea California could get this cold. It’s barely the start of October. _Dumb._  

She had too much to drink. That part is obvious. She hates herself for it but at least she’s not lamenting over _him_ anymore. All the alcohol did its job and that’s what matters. She laughs, delirious and sick. The weather is dumb and so is he.

A not dumb face pops into her head, the smile of Simmons, who would chastise her if she could see her right now. Oh, Simmons. Sweet Jemma. So pretty. So smart. Daisy likes her, she likes her a whole heck of a lot. Daisy wonders if Jemma likes her, too. Well—of course she does, they’ve been friends for years, since high school. High school Daisy wasn’t that different from college Daisy and college Daisy isn’t that different from dropout, freshly dumped, horribly drunk Daisy. Geez, kindergarten Daisy would run in fear if she knew her adult self was such a loser. _Nobody tell her_ , adult Daisy thinks with a grim chuckle.

But Jemma. Simmons. Oh, right, her. Daisy was thinking about her again.

Again! Because it happens so often, whenever something bad occurs and Daisy needs a friend. She thinks of Jemma. She’ll always think of Jemma. Jemma is so nice. She’s the nicest person in the world, Daisy decides. The only one who treats Daisy with respect and kindness. Everyone else can fucking choke. They’re not Jemma. They don’t compare. 

Jemma could be the physically most ugly human in the universe and Daisy would still love her. Obviously Daisy appreciates those slight dimples and the shape of her mouth and her adorable nose. She’s gorgeous. Beautiful, actually. She should win an award. It would be well-deserved. But what makes her beautiful isn’t her face, it’s her personality, her empathy, her compassion, her loyalty and faith in others, how thoughtful and generous she is, the list goes on and on. Literally, Daisy keeps a growing list of reasons to love Jemma. She reads it when she needs reminding as to why life is worth living.

What would Jemma think if she knew Daisy felt this way?

Daisy moans and vomits again, then practically passes out on the bench.

She blinks and suddenly she’s walking, as best as she can without tipping over onto the street. She blinks and she’s finding refuge on another stiff bench. She blinks and she’s pulling out her phone, scrolling through it aimlessly. She blinks and she’s holding the phone to her ear, listening to it ring, ring, ring. It clicks. A familiar voice softly says, “Hello?”

Daisy breathes in the cool night air, closes her eyes at the sound of Jemma. “Are you home?” Her own voice is raspy and distant.

“Uh—yes,” Jemma replies, a bit awkwardly. “Yeah, I am. Why, where are you?”

Daisy can’t see shit, can’t see street signs to save her life. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t fucking know.

All she knows is that she loves this woman. This tiny Brit who’s halfway across town. 

“Daisy?” Jemma presses nervously. “Are you alright? Talk to me.” And say what, exactly? _I’m in love with you_?

“Can—can you come get me,” Daisy manages to plead, and she hates that her voice cracks, like a frightened, lost child. She feels a lot smaller than usual, for some reason. She feels small and alone when she’s scared.

“Absolutely,” Jemma reassures—without hesitation. Weird how she’s always so willing to just drop everything for Daisy. God, that must suck. Babysitting your best friend. Helping her clean up her mess. Why would she love Daisy?

Jemma keeps her on the phone, asking her for directions, in her car on the road in the dark—for Daisy. Daisy tells her she is near a deli and what appears to be a closed pet store. She mentions she had too much to drink. Jemma says that’s okay.

“Oh, I see you,” Jemma announces triumphantly, and Daisy spies headlights rounding the corner.

They hang up and Jemma even gets out of the car, rushing to where Daisy is on the bench, as instructed. “Are you okay? Oh, dear, what happened to you? How much did you have to drink?” She shines her phone light into Daisy’s eyes, checking her pupils, then takes her pulse. She sighs and helps Daisy off the bench. “Come on, love, let’s go home.” 

“Am I gonna die?” Daisy hears herself ask, sounding amused, like it’s funny.

“No, sweetie, you’ll be alright. You just need sleep. Tomorrow, lots of Aspirin and water.”

Daisy dozes off in the passenger’s seat while watching the passing lights and cars.

Jemma’s car abruptly stops, parked in the dimly lit garage. The lack of motion makes Daisy feel queasy again but since she has an empty stomach, she won’t have to worry about paying for damages to Jemma’s car.

“Alright, love,” Jemma is saying, pushing her gently into a kitchen chair.

“It’s cozy in here,” Daisy murmurs, leaning her head on the table because her neck hurts.

Jemma drapes a blanket from a nearby couch around Daisy’s shoulders despite her jacket, and rubs her arms to heat them up. It’s soothing, being touched liked this. She wouldn’t allow anyone but Jemma to treat her this way.

Jemma pulls a chair closer to Daisy’s and sits down, reaching for her hands. Jemma has soft, pale hands. Hands made for holding.

“’M sorry for botherin’ you so late,” Daisy slurs, rubbing her tired eyes.

Jemma shakes her head. Kisses Daisy’s clammy forehead. “Don’t apologize,” she whispers. “I’m glad you called me.”

Daisy lifts her head, brow furrowing. “You are?” That makes no sense. No sense at all.

Jemma scrunches her nose. Fuck, it’s so cute when she does that. “I’m glad I’m someone you can trust when you’re in a crisis.”

“Oh.” No big reveal there. Disappointed, though not surprised, Daisy lowers her cheek to the table again.

They’re quiet for a few minutes. Then Jemma says quietly, “I’m gonna go fetch some pillows and more blankets for the couch.”

“Why?” Daisy frowns. “Is company coming? I can go. I’ll…I’ll call an Uber.”

Jemma laughs. A musical sound. “Don’t be silly. It’s for you, babe. You stay here, okay?”

“Mmm.” Daisy doesn’t want to be anywhere else. Even if she doesn’t deserve a friend like Jemma.

Five minutes later, Jemma has the cushy sofa fixed up. Daisy peels off her jacket then sets her boots aside, thanking Jemma with a too-tight but happily reciprocated hug, and crawls under the blankets Jemma provided.

“Sleep as late as you need to,” Jemma murmurs. “Okay? And don’t be afraid to come get me if you need anything.” 

“Yes, Mother,” Daisy mumbles, smirking crookedly, and Jemma giggles.

“Goodnight, love.”

“Night. Thank you.”

“Anytime, baby.” 

Daisy falls asleep unsure if she imagined that last part. Doesn’t matter, though.

Who needs men when you have somebody like Jemma Simmons?

And she does. She has her. That will be enough for now.


End file.
